


Potter Gossip

by imkerfuffled



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Gen, i might turn this into a mini series if the inspiration strikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 10:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imkerfuffled/pseuds/imkerfuffled
Summary: The first day of classes are tough on the teachers as well as the students, and Harry's first year is no exception. The Hogwarts professors want nothing more than to relax by the staff room fire, rest their feet... and gossip. After all, not even the professors are immune to Harry Potter's fame.





	Potter Gossip

Minerva McGonagall swung open the door to the staffroom with an unusually high amount of cheeriness for the first day of class. Most of the teachers scattered about the room looked half dead to the world: utterly relieved that the day was finally over, or else silently dreading the next. Dwarfed by the overstuffed armchair he sat in, tiny Filius Flitwick was already pouring over lesson plans; opposite him, Aurora Sinistra was correcting a moon chart. At the far end of the room sat Professor Quirrell, who was nervously prodding a giant iguana, and passed out on a couch nearby was Pomona Sprout, mumbling something about a Chinese Chomping Cabbage. But Professor McGonagall paid no attention to any of them. Instead, she marched up to a small wooden chair standing alone in a tiny alcove, where Severus Snape sat with his newspaper propped on the edge of a spindly table, looking as unconcerned as always. He glanced impassively over the top of the paper as she slid a nearby chair into place opposite him and sat down in it.

Professor McGonagall met his gaze with a smug expression, and Snape’s eyes slid back to his article, though he knew full well that this would only encourage her in whatever it was she was trying to accomplish. He was right. She sat there patiently, unmoving for several minutes before Severus finally lowered his paper calmly in defeat and said quite pleasantly, “Yes, Minerva?”

Minerva grinned.

“He’s in Gryffindor.”

“There are over a hundred people to whom that could apply, so I’m afraid you haven’t made your point,” The Potions Master drawled, doing his best to appear uninterested.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Severus,” said Minerva, whose grin was growing wider by the second, “This puts an end to your little theory, doesn’t it? I can’t think of any Dark Lords who were sorted into _my_ house, now can you?”

Severus by now deeply regretted expressing his ‘theory’ to the group (which he had, for the most part, voiced only to shut the other professors up, not because he believed it himself). Minerva, of course, had pounced on the idea and torn it to shreds within moments of it leaving his mouth. Snape would gladly have dropped the claim there, but he, unfortunately, had his pride and reputation to uphold. And sometimes he just couldn’t admit that he was wrong.

So instead of having to endure everyone hero-worshiping a Potter for ten years, he got to argue with Professor McGonagall in the common room for an allegation that he didn’t agree with in the first place. He had never for a moment believed that any son of Lily Evans could ever be a powerful Dark wizard, regardless of his father’s influence.

And now Minerva was making him pay for that.

“So. What did you think of him?” she asked.

“I haven’t had him in class yet,” Snape replied just as indifferently as before, shaking his newspaper up again.

Minerva just tugged it back down and chuckled. “Oh, you can’t get away from me that easily, Severus. You at least saw him at the Sorting Ceremony. You can’t tell me that you alone—out of the hundreds of people at Hogwarts—haven’t formed some sort of first impression of the boy.”

Severus gave up trying to read the crumpled paper and tried one last time to wriggle out of trouble. “I lost track of him after he was Sorted; I can’t tell you what he was like.”

Minerva smirked. “He was sitting next to the newest Weasley addition, and you had to have seen _him_ at least; he’s as tall as some of the fourth years. It would be rather hard to ‘lose track of’ the boy whose very presence practically required everyone to crane their necks around to see. Even your Slytherins on the other side of the room were jumping to get a glimpse of him.”

With an irritated sigh, Snape finally surrendered. “If you want my honest opinion, I thought he looked weak, dimwitted, and quite frankly, more pathetic than anyone there, with the possible exception of that Longbottom boy.” If he had to admit defeat, he may as well make it clear what his _true_ thoughts were. In his opinion, the Dark Lord’s defeat was just a big fluke. No child—especially one that came from James Potter—could possibly defeat the Dark Lord at the height of his power.

Professor McGonagall just stared at him for a moment and chuckled again, knowing full well that he was just trying to talk his way out once more. She looked like she had a whole debate planned in her head—and was ready to go through with it too—when the door burst open and the plump Poppy Pomfrey bustled in, looking just like all the other professors in the room: tired.

“Did you know, I’ve already had three people in my hospital wing today? Three!” she exclaimed to no one in particular, plopping down on a sofa. Her exhaustion did nothing to curb her chatty nature. “Why just now I had poor little Susan Bones, the first year, crying her eyes out, the poor thing. She claimed a monster lizard tried to eat her braid!” In the corner, Professor Quirrell tried to hide his iguana in his cloak, but Poppy didn’t notice it. “Of course, I went straight to Silvanus, but he said he didn’t have anything like that…” She rambled on for a while, and slowly the teachers went back to whatever they were doing. Sprout muttered something that sounded like “I swear the cabbage ate them, Mr. Lizard…” Snape surreptitiously slid his crumpled newspaper in front of his face, hoping Minerva wouldn’t notice it. She didn’t. She was too busy watching Quirrell fight his iguana into what appeared to be a kitty carrier.

This was probably why she didn’t notice when Madam Pomfrey started talking to her.

“Minerva? _Minerva…_ Are you listening?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry Poppy, what were you saying?”

Poppy looked questioningly at her. “You didn’t happen to be transfiguring giant lizards in one of your classes, did you?”

“No of course not.” She shook her head. “Why would you ask?”

The nurse sighed and dismissed the topic with a wave of her hand. “It doesn’t matter, really. What I _do_ want to know, Minerva, is if there is any truth in these rumors that you had Harry Potter in class today.”

Minerva smiled and said, “There may be.”

“So what did you think of him?”

Behind his paper, Snape rolled his eyes and braced himself for yet another wasted hour of Potter-worship. But, surprisingly, it never came.

“I saw exactly what I expected to see,” said Minerva honestly, “a scared little boy with culture shock, struggling to fit in in a world he didn’t even know existed until recently.”

When she was greeted by four flabbergasted faces and a snore, Minerva continued, “Honestly, when Hagrid said the boy thought Lily and James died in a car crash— _a car crash!—_ I realized just how bad the situation really was. If his aunt and uncle went to such lengths to keep him away from us… From what Hagrid was saying, it’s a wonder the boy isn’t a miserable wreck! Let’s just say we shouldn’t be expecting Merlin reincarnate from this boy any time soon. And—” She suddenly went into her stern teacher mode. “—it goes without saying that if any one of you tries to treat him like… like…” In the end, she trailed off, trying to think of something suitably magnificent to describe what people saw Harry Potter as.

“The boy who vanquished the Dark Lord?” Flitwick offered. Typical Filius: short and to the point (no pun intended).

McGonagall sighed, but nodded in agreement. “If anybody tries to single him out, I am not joking when I say you’ll have me to deal with. I suspect the last thing Harry Potter wants right now is more attention. He has enough to be getting on with as it is.”

Everybody nodded solemnly and went back to their business, though Poppy looked a little disappointed at the missed chance to gossip about Potter, and Snape felt like rolling his eyes again. This was a classic trick of Minerva’s: for the first few weeks of class she always found some small issue to enforce her authority as deputy headmistress over—as if anybody needed reminding of it—but after a month or so she would slowly become more lenient, and by the end of the year she could hardly care less what the other teachers did so long as it didn’t affect the students. Snape had to admit, it was a good tactic. It meant she would still be seen as stern without actually having to deal out punishments, though it would never work for Severus; he happened to like punishing.

Severus had just returned to his boring article about an increase in Gringotts security, only to realize that the conversation was not yet over. Minerva had just snapped her fingers as if remembering something, and marched straight to where Filius Flitwick was sitting, standing over him with the same smug grin she’d worn when interrogating Severus.

“Speaking of the Boy Who Lived…” She stuck out a hand, palm up.

Flitwick groaned. “I was hoping you would forget about that.”

“No such luck, Filius.” she grinned. “That’ll be three Sickles.”

Reluctantly, the tiny Charms Professor rummaged in his pocket for the money, mumbling, “If it means anything, my second guess would have been Gryffindor.”

“Yet you bet for Ravenclaw,” Minerva said cheerily, “so you owe me three sickles.”

“It was a perfectly reasonable supposition,” Flitwick argued, still searching his pockets, “The boy defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby! He’s clearly a very powerful wizard, so I thought Ravenclaw would be the obvious choice… And now I’m out three sickles.”

“ _You placed bets on the outcome of Harry Potter’s Sorting!?_ ” The door had flung dramatically open to reveal the scandalized Sybill Trelawney, whose hands flew to her heart at the very thought of it. “Minerva, I thought you—for all your other misgivings—would be _above_ that!”

“Well you divined incorrectly, Sybill,” said Minerva a bit tetchily, though with only the faintest trace of sarcasm, “You see, those of us without psychic tendencies must find some other way to pass the time between school-years… though I daresay you already knew that.”

Trelawney gave a huff of indignation and drew her many shawls tighter around her shoulders. When she spoke, her voice had lost some of its usual airiness. “The Inner Eye…” she said, “does not approve of gambling. Therefore, I do not waste its powers on the misguided transactions of my mundane colleagues.” 

“Well tell me when it loses its conscience.” The door swung open again and in walked Rolanda Hooch, already fresh off the Quidditch pitch. She swept past Sybill, who was still standing in the doorway, and dropped into an empty chair near Minerva. “I want to know who wins the next World Cup,” she finished.

“Ireland,” Minerva immediately piped up, unable to resist starting a Quidditch debate.

“True,” said Hooch. She paused, “Although… Peru has a pretty good team now. There may be some competition there.”

“You just like the name of the team,” accused Minerva, chuckling.

“Guilty as charged,” Hooch smiled, “You can’t _not_ love the Tarapotos.”

“The only thing that could stop Ireland from winning,” said Minerva, returning to her earlier point, “is if they somehow can’t come up with _one_ good Seeker within the next three years.”

“Yes, Lynch will never cut it,” Hooch agreed, “But, as much as I would love to talk Quidditch with you, we seem to have gone a bit off-topic: What are you betting on, and why wasn’t I involved?”

“Harry Potter,” was Minerva’s only explanation. It was the only one needed. Rolanda Hooch nodded knowingly and instantly stuck her hand out, just like Minerva had earlier. Sighing, Flitwick grudgingly handed over three Sickles to the Quidditch Coach as well as Minerva, who—and it hadn’t escaped her notice—he still hadn’t paid.

Still hovering near the door, Trelawney gave a dismayed gasp at their thoughtless indelicacy.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Sybill,” Hooch snapped, “I’ve made worse bets in my time at Hogwarts. I would think you would be all for gambling: with your abilities, you could stand to make quite a bit of money off of it.” Minerva chuckled inwardly at the very subtle way in which Rolanda called Sybill’s “abilities” into question, but the Seer shuddered at the very suggestion of her joining her colleagues’ bets. 

“Oh, don’t even speak it!” she gasped, her many bangles clinking together as she shook in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion. “I would never _dream_ of using my Gift for monetary gain. It would go against the very purpose of the Inner Eye!”

“In that case,” Flitwick piped up, “You wouldn’t mind sharing with us what you _would_ have bet, since you weren’t at the Sorting Ceremony.” Trelawney had once again stayed cooped up in her tower, claiming the surplus of warm bodies interfered with her Inner Eye.

“Oh.” The great Seer seemed to deflate a bit and act unsure of what to do. “Well—”

Taking a sudden interest in the scene, Snape flattened his newspaper on the table. “We only wanted to know, in your _expert_ opinion, if the Sorting Hat placed the boy in the right House,” he purred in a voice dripping with oily sarcasm.

Trelawney hesitated, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. By now, most of the teachers had dragged themselves out of whatever mindless stupor they had been in and were staring at Sybill in cruel curiosity.

“Well, when you put it that way…” she twittered, teetering on the edge of uncertainty. Suddenly, she went into what Minerva called ‘Dramatic Acting Mode’ (or DAM for short). Her entire demeanor changed in the blink of an eye.

“I… I think I do, _See_ something,” she whispered, spreading her arms to add to the suspense.

“Good for you,” Severus muttered contemptuously, but it was too quiet for Trelawney to hear.

“I See… I See the boy, yes it must be—” Sybill’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as she gazed far off into the distance. Minerva knew this was all part of her mysterious effect. She happened to know for certain that Sybill had spent years travelling as a fortune teller with a less-than-respectable magical circus before she came to teach at Hogwarts.

“I See a great _Darkness_ inside him! Oooh.” Her hands flew to her mouth as delved further into the ‘Vision’, squeezing her eyes shut in order to ‘concentrate.’ “Yes, there _is_ Darkness. I can See it now…”

“Of course you see darkness!” Rolanda snapped, “You’ve got your eyes closed.” Trelawney either did not hear this, or chose to ignore it, because at that moment she reached her hands out again, like a blind person trying to feel her way through the room, and gasped theatrically.

“There is great evil inside this boy!” she exclaimed, her eyes flying open again. Severus interpreted this to mean that she _had_ heard Rolanda’s remark. “A Dark power… such as I have not felt for ten long years…”

“Are you suggesting he really _is_ a powerful Dark Wizard?” Madam Pomfrey scoffed, “That’s poppycock. He’s in Gryff—!” Filius had to throw his book at her in order to stop her from talking, but it was too late. Sybill had already heard her.

“D—did you say… Gryffindor?” The Seer looked uncertain and confused again. Snape rolled his eyes. She stood there staring at Poppy as if just seeing her there for the first time, which was probably true.

“No,” Poppy replied too quickly, “Yes.”

“But… He’s not in Slytherin? I was _certain_ … There must have been a mistake!”

“A mistake!” Severus sneered, “The Sorting Hat does not _make_ mistakes, Trelawney. Harry Potter will be precisely his father’s son. The day a _Potter_ sits under the banner of _my_ House will be the day I resign!”

Rolanda muttered something that Snape couldn’t hear, but it sounded suspiciously to Minerva like, “It can’t come too soon.” Judging by the look he gave Rolanda, however, the Potions Master seemed to get the gist of it.


End file.
